Disclaimer. I do not own Harry Potter.
I own xanth.
Hopefully you like the way this story is going. its to get more intresting to, expect to see more characters from the original story.
Dumbledores son.
Xanth stirred, rolled over in bed so that he lay flat on his stomach, one leg slightly askew at an awkward, but painless angel. Cursing himself even as he dreamt for leaving the vampire sleeping position that he'd worked so hard to master. Sleeping in the style of a vampire is difficult, no matter how easy it looks on T.V. Humans just aren't meant to sleep laying on their back, body straight and arms folded neatly and evenly across their chest. It's impossible to do so without practice because of the way humans fidget. Xanth had practiced everyday for months to be able to do it without fail, and now for no reason at all he reverted back to position he'd had for years.
Moments later he sat straight up, not as smoothly as he would have, had he been sleeping normally, but still he managed to change from dreamland to reality instantly and with ease. Xanth glanced up and around his bedroom, searching for the thing that had awakened him so earlier on a Friday morning. Sliding out the bed to stand up was done smooth and quietly. He stood still trying hard to since an intruder or anything out of the ordinary but at that he failed. The thought crossed his mind that it didn't really matter if he couldn't feel anything in the room with him. After all he was only human, or at least he thought he was. But even before that thought left his mind another one crossed it; surly if there was something in his resting place he'd know.
And besides that Xanth knew that he couldn't really claim to be human anymore. He remembered the dream quite clearly, his memory has always been excellent and he had always had an unusually amount of control of his subconscious. Although he remembered the dream and knew what it meant all details hadn't quite registered and so he continued his tread of thought for a while as if nothing had happened. 'Humans don't think like me, and they surly cant do all the things thing I can with my mind. I've studied them far to long to be wrong about this matter.
Before starting to move across the room to search for the unwanted guest, Xanth reached under his pillow for his knife, the one that slept with him every night but he noticed that it was already in his hand. His face-hardened a little. It would take someone very close to him to recognize the change of it. Xanth rarely showed emotion, years of practice, and besides that there was no one even remotely close to him.
On one hand the fact that the knife was already in Xanth's hand was good, he took a small bit of pleasure from it for it meant that he had immediately made the motion to grab it upon waking up. Yet another thing he'd have had to prefect over time. But on the other hand he realized that he hadn't known the knife was in his hand until after he'd reach for it, the mistake could have been deadly. Just maybe he had practiced to well.
With knife in hand Xanth walked around the room, searching it in every possible hiding spot available, no matter how small. He didn't even pay a bit of attention to the fact that he was temporary blinded by absolute darkness. After making sure everything was in order, Xanth dropped the knife, folded his arms across his chest and begin to review the events of his dream.
The Old man, Dumbledore, had been wise and powerful, despite the fact that he was dead. He could have remanded on earth as a spirit. Not quite unlike a ghost in that fact that he would have been transparent, unable to eat, or feel but the one deferent's was he wood have retained some of his power. But he had giving that up, he had chosen to give Xanth his magic. There was a mistake though, Xanth could already since within his body that what Dumbledore had wanted for him hadn't truly happened. Dumbledore wanted him to be truly magic. He wanted Xanth to be come a warlock, and a most powerful one at that having attained his powers from Dumbledore himself. But instead the same reason Dumbledore had chosen him to receive his magic had been the reason he had also became something else.
Ever since Xanth could think he had wanted to be something other than human. He knew that human wasn't enough for him. Secretly he feared death. He feared it so much the thought never crossed his mind that the reason he wanted to become a vampire was because they had immortality. Dumbledore had chosen Xanth because of his simple raw need. Out of all the humans available, Xanth was the one that wanted to be something else the most. He was the one that had tried hardest to obtain the power through training as well as wishing. His wishing and utter knowledge that he would become what he wanted, a power to be reckoned with had lured Dumbledore to him. And this same wish was what changed the magic Dumbledore gave him and formed him into something else. Something greater. Not only was Xanth a warlock, a creature with just as much power as a wizard but with no use for a wand, But Xanth was also a vampire, an immortal. And one with so much raw power he had no fear of sunlight, garlic or even a stake threw the heart. For when Xanth became a vampire he didn't die as other vampires do instead he still lived as he probable would forever, the live wood of a stake had absolutely no effect on him.
All these thoughts and actions, from the moment of Xanth's awakening happened within a few short seconds. Xanth didn't have a need to study his new power, he already knew the basics of it. His wish and will had gotten him the power and the same thing with help him control it.
Xanth moved from the spot in which he had stood from the moment he dropped the knife. He walked over to his closet, watched silently but gleefully as the door opened when he approached. He looked at the outfit he had on the hanger nearest him, it was in fact the same outfit he wore everyday, he had dozens of these exact clothes. A black paints, with no design at all on it. A black long sleeve shirt that was almost dressy, but not quite silk, A pair or black boots known as timberlands, and a long black trench coat that had a golden 'X' across the back of it. Without reaching for any of these items he thought of them on him, and there they appeared.
In the dream, the exact one that both Harry and Xanth had shared Dumbledore had leaned over and whispered a question into Xanth's ear. He didn't ask Xanth if he was ready for magic, he already knew the answer to that. What he did ask was if he was willing to accept a little bit of intrusing in his mind, Xanth had answered yes, and didn't regret it for a moment. When Dumbledore gave him magic he also gave him information. This information filled Xanth in on Hogwarts, the entire wizarding community and especially about Voldemont and a boy of the same age as him, Harry Potter.
What Dumbledore didn't ask was for Xanth to go see Harry, to help him, but then again there was no need for him to ask. It was obvious to him that this was the reason that Dumbledore had giving him this power, he wanted him help Harry Potter, and so he would do just this.
Xanth glanced around his room once more. He very seriously doubted he would ever see it again. There was really no need. It was a simple one bedroom apartment, one that had already been a banded years before Xanth found it at the age of six. Nothing in the room meant anything to Xanth not even the knife, it was no longer important. With out farther delay Xanth turned on his feet and disapperated. Reapearing In the smallest room of number four Private Drive. To stand before a smiling boy with a lighting shape scar upon his head.